Murder in the Air (30 page)

“Well, I guess you two can go home now,” said the sheriff, the cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. “Sorry you folks had such a rough night. I'll be in touch. You'll probably be called to testify in a court trial somewhere down the line, after we catch the guy who did it.”

“You think you'll catch him?” said Sophie.

The sheriff hooked a thumb through his belt. “Oh, we'll catch him all right. My sergeant tells me we got some great tire tracks in the snow about thirty yards back of the cabin. Footprints leading right to the door. Then more prints back to the car. Tire tracks are like fingerprints, in case you didn't know. In my experience, criminals are stupid, they usually make mistakes.” He took a short puff, then continued. “And
me, well, Fm too old for snowmobiling. Don't much care for ice fishing. In the winter, I got lots of time on my hands. We'll catch him, all right. What the courts decide to do with him—that's another matter.”

May 7, 1959

Dear Mother:

It's nearly midnight. I'm sitting here at my makeshift desk, writing to you by candlelight. The electricity is off, and has been off since I got back this afternoon. I have no idea why, nor have I been able to find out. Most of the other tenants don't speak English, and the two who do are every bit as much in the dark as I am, both literally and figuratively. This is the second time we've lost power in the last two weeks, so I assume it's something I'll have to put up with. I just hope my food doesn't spoil in the refrigerator.

Around eight I went out to sit on the small balcony attached to my apartment. I have a comfortable chair out there where I often spend the evenings watching people come and go down on the street. Did I tell you? I'm on the second floor, though the view is hopeless ^nothing lovely or panoramic. Around nine, I closed my eyes and didn't wake until a few minutes ago. The night air is so much cooler than it was earlier in the day. The breeze coming in through the window as I sit here to write is sweet and fresh, yet so different from the smells I was used to at home. How can I put it, other than to say that this town, indeed this entire country, is a strange mixture of the ancient and the pragmatic, utilitarian, almost militaristic
modern. Some of it is new, clean, and intensely ugly, while much of it is old, decaying, filthy, and fascinating. The clash of cultures never ceases to amaze me.

Today I rode a ramshackle bus out to the Mediterranean. It isn't far. The cost was next to nothing, yet the reward was immense. This was the first time I'd left town since I arrived, the first time I had a chance to sit alone on the sand and gaze at the water. What they say is true, Mom. The sea is very blue, although to my eyes, it was more of an intense blue-green. I sat for hours just watching the waves splash over the white rocks. Emptying myself Enjoying the moment. The sun felt good on my body. Better than good. I felt alive again. Sometimes, like this afternoon, I think I'm beginning to heal, both physically and mentally. When I got home, I found myself whistling as I prepared dinner. But then the sun goes down and darkness comes, and once again, I'm alone with my thoughts, my virulent visions, and my rage.

And that's where I am again right now. I want to move on with my story.

I'd finally found the name of the man Sally Nash had been dating late last summer, but I still had no proof of his involvement in the Landauer hit-and-run. Since Sally wasn't about to give me the details, at least for the present, I had to figure out another way to get inside his life
—
and more specifically his house
—
to see what evidence might still be there. I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try. I could almost taste the triumph when I broke the story. I felt my career would take off like a rocket if only I could get the information I needed.

Two nights after I met Dave Cordovan at the Westgate and he filled me in on the particulars of Sally's love life, I took Kay out to dinner. It was a celebration. Our favorite spot was Charlie's in downtown Minneapolis, but I wanted to take her someplace new. I made reservations at Sheik's for seven o'clock, picked her up at her apartment, and whisked her downtown. We ordered drinks and
steaks, and sat for a while talking about our future. She didn't know I'd planned to propose to her
—
officially
—
on Christmas eve, but it was already a foregone conclusion that we'd marry sometime in the new year. We were both so happy. I could tell by the way people looked at us that our faces were shining.

And yet I had something else on my mind that night, too, something much darker. As the evening progressed I explained what I'd learned. Kay listened with great interest. I told her I needed to find a way to get into Manderbach's house
—
and into his life. We talked about it awhile, knocked around a couple of different ideas, and finally Kay hit on one we both felt certain would work. She would become a Trojan horse. In the disguise of a flirtatious, attractive
—
eligible
—
young woman, she would enter the walls of the castle. Kay would get to know Bud Manderbach. But first, we had to devise a situation where they would meet. If everything went as planned, he'd then ask her out on a date. Once she had her foot in the door, she could survey the situation, ask a few leading questions, even do some snooping. I was most interested in his car
—
the one he was driving the night of the accident. Since he was a rich guy, I figured he had access to more than one automobile.

Kay was every bit as interested in finding the truth as I was
—
at least, I think she was. In many ways, I don't know anymore. By then I was seeing everything through the filter of my own ambition. Yet Kay was willing. Tin sure of that much. She saw the importance of what we were doing. We both knew there might be a certain risk, but neither of us comprehended the overwhelming danger. We were two kids having ourselves a great adventure. In a romantic sort of way, it felt like an old movie to both of us. I was Alan Ladd and she was Veronica Lake. We even laughed about it. The fact that we resembled them wasn't lost on either of us. God, when I think of it now, I could vomit.

For the next week I followed Bud Manderbach around, just to see what his patterns were. Thankfully, he was fairly regular. Always to the store by nine. Parked in the
department-store ramp, always in the same spot. Worked most of the day in his office. I learned that his father was apparently too ill to run the store anymore. He was bedridden in the big house on Summit Avenue where the whole family lived. Bud had, for all practical purposes, assumed control of the store. He left anywhere between four and six
—
never went home. From what I could tell, his marriage must have been a bust. Twice he went to bars and picked up women. Other nights he met friends for dinner. Always, he drank to the point of inebriation. Even with all he had going for him, he wasn't a happy man.

The following Monday morning, we put our plan in motion. Kay didn't own a car, so I let her borrow mine. She parked in the department-store ramp around eight forty-five and waited by the elevators until Manderbach came in. They rode down to the mezzanine level together, where Bud took a different set of elevators up to the corporate offices. My instincts were correct. Manderbach couldn't resist a beautiful young woman, especially when he discovered that she worked at the store. Kay didn't have to flirt with him
—
Manderbach did enough for both of them. By the third morning, he'd asked her to have dinner with him the following night.

The plan was working. Since we didn't want him to know where she lived, she arranged to meet him at the restaurant and then took her own car
—
my car
—
home. He was a married man and she had a reputation to protect. He didn't argue. When she got back to her apartment around ten, I was waiting for her just inside the downstairs door. We sat on the stairs and talked. She said Manderbach was a sad man, but surprisingly fun to be with. She felt it best not to push too much that night. He'd asked her to go skating with him over at Lake of the Isles on Saturday afternoon and she'd accepted. She told him to pick her up outside the drugstore on Franklin and Hennepin. She didn't want her roommates to know she was seeing him. Again, he agreed.

Saturday afternoon came and went. I waited for her at her apartment until six. She was supposed to be back well
before that. Thinking that something had gone wrong, I drove straight to the park. I looked everywhere but couldn't find them. I asked some of the people in the warming house if they'd seen a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, a red coat with black fur around the collar and cuffs. Young. Beautifid. She would have been with a guy in his late twenties. Dark hair. The Fred MacMurray type. I never liked Fred MacMurray and found a secret satisfaction that Man-derbach looked like him. One woman said she'd seen a young couple like that. They'd been having a great time. The guy wasn't very steady on his skates at first, but the young woman held on to his arm, encouraging him, helping him up when he fell down. Eventually the guy seemed to get his sea legs. They'd driven off in his car sometime around five.

I thanked the woman and left. The fact that they'd been having such a swell time rankled a biu but then, that was just her opinion. The most pressing problem was, where had they gone? If they were having a good time, then Kay was all right. But I didn't trust the guy. I hoped Kay had the sense not to trust him either. The only thing left for me to do was to head back to her apartment. Hopefully, she'd be home soon.

I cooled my heels in the entryway until close to nine. I think I must have worn a groove in the rug before she finally arrived home by cab. When she walked through the door, she wrapped her arms around me, kissed me as tenderly as she ever had, and apologized profusely. She had no way of contacting me with the change in plans. Man-derbach, or “Bud, “ as she was now calling him, had asked her out to dinner and she didn't want to refuse.

As we sat on the stairs and talked I could see how excited she was. Her cheeks were flushed not only with the cold air, but with her own sense of mission. She'd finally made some concrete progress. Bud was starting to trust her, confide in her. Over dinner, he'd opened up about his awful marriage, the miserable way his father had treated him ever since he was a child, his neurotic though beloved sister, B.B. Kay said she understood him a little better. He
was a tortured soul, really. A man who found no joy in living. His wife was a shrew. She'd only married him because he was rich. His father belittled him every chance he got. There was no reason to go home at night. Nobody except his sister missed him, and she was usually involved in some TV show. He said his wife was relieved when he didn't come home until after she'd gone to bed. That way, there were no arguments. He had his life and she had hers. The fact that they were strangers didn't seem to bother her. But it bothered Bud. He was a man adrift, without moorings or a safe haven.

As you might expect, about the time she mentioned the moorings and the safe haven, I was ready to puke. I mean, I couldn't believe my Kay was this naive. She'd swallowed his line whole. She was completely blind to how he'd manipulated her. I gently tried to point that out, but she got defensive. Said I didn't understand. I hadn't been there, hadn't witnessed his pain firsthand. Well, I mean, I still felt nauseous, but then she changed the subject. Said she was sure she was on the verge of discovering something important. Over dessert, he'd touched on the subject of some great tragedy that had befallen him recently. Something he'd never told a living soul about before. But then, before he could elaborate, Kay's cab arrived. She was certain that he would tell her eventually. She even went so far as to say that he might befalling in love with her—just a little bit.

I asked her if they had another date planned. She said yes, she was going to a movie and a late dinner with him the following night.

It all seemed a little too cozy for my liking, but then, this was what I wanted, wasn't it? Kay was making progress. Soon we'd know the truth about the Landauer hit-and-run. When I walked her upstairs and kissed her good night, she remained in my arms for a long time. “I'm scared, Justin, “ she finally said, looking up into my eyes.

I stroked her hair and told her I understood. It wouldn't
be long now. Once we knew the truth, she'd never have to see him again.

I actually thought I did understand. I figured that even though Manderbach had sucked her in, she was beginning to see through his lies. On a gut level, she understood his essential evil and he frightened her. In retrospect, I'm not sure we were talking about the same thing at all.

The worst part is, now that Kay's gone, I'll never know what she meant that night. I'll go to my grave wondering what it was I overlooked. It's like walking in quicksand, Mom. There's nothing solid under my feet. I'm not sure of anything anymore, except that I'm alive. And Bud Manderbach is alive. But Kay is dead. It shouldn't have ended that way, with her bloody body lying in the snow at my feet.

I'll try to write again soon.

All my love,
Justin

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